


Tender Mercies

by MxTicketyBoo



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Anal Sex, But it's like purple vapor tentacles, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Smut, Intercrural Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Professional Associates, Size Difference, Smoke Tentacles, Tentacle Sex, They're just there to be helpful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27621983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MxTicketyBoo/pseuds/MxTicketyBoo
Summary: “You left me waiting for so long, old man,” Hermes teases with a grin. “Nearly wore out my boots, I did. Might need a brand-new pair now. Let’s hear it, then. How are you going to make it up to me?”Charon groans and smoke billows from the corners of his mouth, curling up to form the smile made physically impossible by the lack of flesh around his teeth.“Oh, is that so?” Hermes hikes a brow, well familiar with Charon’s tones by now, and this one all but guarantees him a good time. “Come on, then, boss, hop to it. Can’t tease a fellow like that and not follow through. Show me how much you’ve missed me.”
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 361





	Tender Mercies

**Author's Note:**

> At one point I thought to myself, "Hmm. I wonder if Charon can do anything special with that purple smoke?" The next question I asked myself was: "What if he can use it to make tentacles?!" And, well, here we are. Charon has a cock too; the vapor tentacles are just there to be helpful and vanish as soon as the fun is over. Maybe it's a little weird, but if you like porn and feels, they're both provided here in spades, so hopefully you'll have a good time regardless! ;D Enjoy, monsterfuckers!
> 
> Thanks to Dusty and Lines for the beta read! <3

Contrary to popular belief, the God of Swiftness does occasionally squeeze breaks into his chaotic schedule. 

Hermes isn’t one who enjoys sitting still. He never likes wasting time, when in his experience, it’s always, as they say, of the essence. But even the speediest of fellows requires a pause to catch his breath every once in a while—or a pause, perhaps, to see his dearest, most cherished professional associate. 

Both. Either. Whichever. The details of who he spends his off-hours with are on a need-to-know basis, and none of his kin up on fair Olympus need to know he sometimes idles away an afternoon with a certain tall, dark, and deadly chthonic boatman.

After eons of skirting around each other, ignoring the growing interest and mutual attraction, the invisible cord that insistently tugged them together, they’d finally crossed the boundary between business partners and partners of an entirely different variety. It’s been nothing but brisk winds and shiny obols ever since. Though Hermes would readily admit—that is, if he had anyone he trusted enough to confide in _aside_ from Charon—he never once anticipated falling in love with the ferryman of the Underworld. For a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was the rather significant communication barrier between them. However, they’d found a way, many ways, to make themselves understood, and now, Hermes slows down for one infernal entity and one alone. Charon.

His heart speeds and his wings flutter, stirring his hair, at the thought of his big beau.

There’s a chamber just beyond the Temple of Styx, hidden and protected from poisonous vermin and satyrs alike, one of the many secret locations where Charon stashes away his hoard of countless obols and other favored possessions. Coins and brilliant gemstones border the room, some of them gifts from Hermes himself, towering stacks in such innumerable abundance they spill over onto the stone floor in a riot of glittering color and gold.

As the God of Commerce, Hermes can’t help but be impressed by the display of wealth. It’s there, in that room of plenty, where he waits for Charon to return from the depths and moor his empty boat to the dock where Hermes routinely delivers batches of freshly departed souls. His satchel and the caduceus have been set aside, along with the orange and yellow cloak he wears slung about his neck—the less for Charon to remove when he eventually arrives.

Hermes doesn’t pace so much as zing impatiently from one end of the chamber to the other, until, in a haze of purple mist, Charon appears.

A quick pounce and Hermes is easily caught by strong, sinewy arms.

“Finally!” He wraps his legs around Charon’s waist and pushes off the wide-brimmed hat to pepper kisses across gaunt, parchment-dry cheeks while Charon tightens his grip, pulling him closer.

“Hrrrrggghhh.” Charon gazes up at him through a dark, empty socket and an eye that’s a hollow swirl of purple, set in a face that’s little more than a skull—black skin stretched taut over prominent bone with no layer of cushioning beneath, and without a proper nose, just two small slits for nostrils. And yet while some may find Charon’s countenance a fearsome sight to behold, for Hermes, there’s no face in this realm or any other more precious or beloved.

“You left me waiting for so long, old man,” Hermes teases with a grin. “Nearly wore out my boots, I did. Might need a brand-new pair now. Let’s hear it, then. How are you going to make it up to me?”

Charon groans again and smoke billows from the corners of his mouth, curling up to form the smile made physically impossible by the lack of flesh around his teeth.

“Oh, is that so?” Hermes hikes a brow, well familiar with Charon’s tones by now, and this one all but guarantees him a good time. No doubt he’ll be zooming out of here weak-kneed and satiated at the end of their visit, and he can’t wait to discover what new tricks Charon has up those flowing, gold-trimmed sleeves of his. “Come on, then, boss, hop to it. Can’t tease a fellow like that and not follow through. Show me how much you’ve missed me.”

Hermes’s back hits the wall in the next second, and he laughs, linking his arms over his lover’s broad shoulders. Charon’s body is an odd amalgamation of gauntness and power, two traits that seem incongruous, that perhaps, by all rights, should be unable to coexist. Yet, Charon defies nature in this as he does so many other things. Unlike his face, the skin of his legs and torso is gray-complected, similar to his brother, Thanatos, who, in his line of work, Hermes encounters from time to time. Charon is all pointed angles and jutting bones, so lean and wiry as to look almost emaciated without the cover of his many robes, but his strength is undeniable, honed by millennia of rowing newly deceased spirits to the depths of the Underworld before returning faithfully upriver to start the process all over again.

This unexpected blend of contrasts fascinates Hermes, who revels in the interesting and unique. During his travels, he’s met no one else like Charon, and he doesn’t think he ever will. There are few places Hermes will visit more than once, if not required to do so for his work—there’s so much to see, and so little time available, even for deities—but Charon is the home he’ll always gladly return to, both familiar and uncanny like a sprawling forest that still holds secrets in its shadows no matter how many times he’s traversed the paths between the trees.

There _is_ something they do have in common, however, aside from their mutual love of coming out on the better end of a bargain. Charon’s speed, so often the complete opposite of Hermes’s own, the slow melting of a glacier compared to the suddenness of a flash flood, occasionally does rise to match even the God of Swiftness himself.

Hermes learned long ago Charon can move as quickly as anything, _if_ properly motivated, and it never fails to utterly delight him whenever Charon does so. When he challenges anyone who’d dare try to cheat him, or when he snatches Hermes from mid-air, despite the rapid-fire beat of his wings, and brings him in close for a tender embrace.

For now, though, Charon eases back into his normal pace. He bends his head, and Hermes happily obliges the silent request for more kisses, dragging his mouth along the ridge of a blade-sharp cheekbone. He licks over Charon’s teeth and parts his lips to accept a stream of amethyst vapor that makes his thoughts go sluggishly hazy, even as all his senses come alive, his skin going sensitive and hot, vision narrowing acutely until Charon becomes his solitary focus.

“I missed you,” he whispers, just before a pair of long, slender fingers hook behind his teeth, forcing his jaw open wider. More of the smoke, and his arousal intensifies. A rough shiver ripples along his spine. He rocks his hips in search of friction as the pads of Charon’s fingertips glide over his tongue and the taste of metal invades his mouth.

Hermes moans and sucks like he’s going at a cock, drinking down the flavor of Charon’s cherished obols and the rings adorning those large, callused hands.

A low, approving growl rolls from Charon’s chest. His free hand roams from where it cups Hermes’s ass to the band around his right thigh. He toys with the stretch of fabric, but doesn’t try to remove it. He likes to leave it on, even when the rest of Hermes is stripped bare, and Hermes doesn’t mind. He’ll wear as little or as much as Charon prefers; he’ll do whatever Charon asks, let himself be used to fulfill every dark desire, no matter how filthy or bizarre. In his long existence, there’s almost nothing left to shock him anymore.

Shame is a concept for mortals, and Hermes has none.

He whimpers, needy and eager, as Charon’s fingers slide deeper inside his mouth, dipping only far enough into his throat to make Hermes choke, before withdrawing to drag, wet, down his chin, his neck.

Hermes tilts his head back, sighing at the sensation. The casual display of possession, of dominance makes him shiver. He is Charon’s to do with what he pleases, whether it’s marking him with his own spit or restraining him in a way that finally allows Hermes to empty his thoughts and be _still_. Here in this place, there’s no need to worry about keeping time or maintaining schedules. With Charon, he’s allowed to simply exist. Not as a divine messenger or conductor of souls, not as a god and son of gods, but merely Hermes, who loves Charon and is loved by Charon in turn.

Charon’s pale, wavy hair tickles his cheek as he leans in to nuzzle a spot just below Hermes’s ear, his purple smoke winding sinuously around them both.

“Make me feel it,” Hermes whispers. “Give me something to take with me.”

Charon rumbles a groan of assent and lowers them both to the floor. Coins dig into Hermes’s back through the material of his chiton, and he shimmies a little, trying to get comfortable as Charon kneels between his spread legs. Charon makes quick work of removing his shimmery golden cowl and the weighty, obol-laden chain around his shoulders. He carefully sets both aside, and then runs his cold palms along Hermes’s inner thighs, pushing up the hem of his tunic and exposing him to the waist.

Hermes is bare underneath, as always, already hard and wet at the tip of his cock, desperate for Charon as he’s never been for anyone else. He shows it off shamelessly, undulating his hips and opening himself wider, inviting Charon to the place where he’s so eager to have him.

“I’ve been like this since I arrived,” Hermes tells Charon with a smirk. “Take pity, old man. Don’t make me wait.”

“Hhhaaaaahh.” Coils of purple vapor creep from beneath Charon’s heavy robes, slithering along the parts of Hermes’s shins and calves not covered by his boots. They’re insubstantial at first, dissipating upon contact and tickling like cool puffs of breath, but solidify as they creep slowly up his thighs.

Hermes shivers as one prods at his hole and another curls tenderly around his tightly drawn sac. He hadn’t known, at first, that Charon could make the smoke take on a corporeal form, similar to the tentacled creatures he’d spied wrecking ships among the waves of Poseidon’s gargantuan territory—and hadn’t _that_ been a delightful discovery?

Hermes moans a little at the memory. The first time they experimented, he’d come harder than in his entire existence before that day. His knees had given out when he tried to stand afterward, and he would’ve hit the ground like a felled tree, if not for his wings and Charon’s lightning-fast reflexes.

Now, Charon uses the vapor in all sorts of creative ways whenever they lay together. His plan today seems to entail keeping Hermes bound in place and still beneath him. Two of the tendrils snake around his ankles, pulling his legs up and to the sides, while another pair twine around his wrists, pinning his hands to the floor above his head.

Hermes tugs against the restraints, simply to test and feel the way they tighten, not in a genuine attempt to escape. When the tentacles wrap more firmly around his limbs in response, he relents with a pleased little sigh, his wings once again fluttering and ruffling his hair.

There’s no one else he’d allow the freedom to tie him or hold him immobile. Hermes despises stagnation. Under normal circumstances, nothing frustrates him more than being forced to slow down. It bores him to tears to be in one place, in one attitude for too long. His body thrums with restlessness, a hum of unceasing energy down to ichor in his veins, urging him to go go _go_ , only content when he’s in a constant state of motion. Hermes rarely fights that irrepressible urge. Why would he? His schedule is the one thing he’d call sacred, the structure that allows him to stay adequately on task.

But…

And there always is a _but_ , isn’t there, when it comes to matters of the heart?

His time with Charon, as well as Charon himself, are ever the exception to all of Hermes’s rules.

“Well, here I am, bound, with nowhere to go, entirely at your mercy.” Hermes hears his own smugness at his current predicament, and he knows Charon does, too, by the pleased rumble and smoke-curl grin. “You love this, don’t you? Me, little and spread out for you like an offering on all this shiny coin.”

“Hrrrnnngghhhh,” Charon responds, but he needn’t have bothered. His satisfaction is palpable from the gleam of his fiery-bright eye to the copious amounts of purple vapor swirling from him in every direction.

“That’s right, you do.” Hermes sends him a wink and a cheeky grin. Even physically restrained, if he’s not gagged, he can’t stop running his mouth. “Finally ready to show me who’s boss, then, my dear associate?”

His answer is Charon taking his cock in a big, rough hand.

Hermes cries out, his hips bucking, as Charon strokes him once, firmly, from tip to base, and the slithering tendril between his legs prods at his hole again.

Charon doesn’t press it inside, though. Instead, he uses the tentacle to torment Hermes in tandem with the light, teasing caresses along the length of his shaft, until Hermes is little more than a sweaty, shaking mess, hair falling into his eyes and the bunched up material of his chiton clinging uncomfortably to his damp skin. His thighs are tense, his back arched as he writhes helplessly beneath touches that are too soft, too languorous, too delicate, too _slow_. Hermes won’t climax from this; it’s meant to torture him, not take him to the heights of bliss and push him over the brim.

And, oh, Charon is as patient as the universe is old. He’d do this for days and nights, if Hermes and their respective positions allowed. But—and this is one of the many reasons why Hermes loves him so much—he also recognizes the point at which the time for teasing has passed.

When Hermes is thoroughly reduced to incoherence, plaintive words falling from his lips so fast they blur together into nonsense, Charon reaches within the folds of his robes and withdraws a slender vial of glimmering oil.

He rubs some between his hands, pours a trickle over the tight furl of muscle guarding Hermes’s entrance, another along his cock, and then coats his inner thighs—one of Charon’s favorite places to rut.

It’s messy and slick, and Hermes moans as the smoke tendrils shift, pulling his legs together at the ankles and then bringing his knees toward his chest.

Charon groans in approval and parts his robes to reveal his naked physique. Gold glints at his wiry chest from the two small hoops piercing his dark gray nipples. Jewelry Hermes had placed there himself, after sitting on Charon’s lap to pierce the sensitive buds, within easy kissing distance to distract Charon from the pain.

The hoops are only the most recent gift of many he’s lavished upon his lover throughout their long years together, but they’re quite possibly Hermes’s personal favorite. They just look so _good_ his mouth waters.

He wets his lips, wanting to tug on those two small rings with his teeth, trail his tongue along the bony ladders of Charon’s rib cage, down to his taut stomach and prominent hipbones and the purple-tinged cock jutting forward from his pelvis. Silky fluid drips from the slit, and Hermes longs to lick it up, swallow and savor the taste.

Charon rubs a slippery hand over his shaft, spreading oil on the tight skin, and moves closer to nudge the head of his cock between Hermes’s thickly muscled thighs. He thrusts forward, excruciatingly slow, and unleashes a heartfelt groan, his head tipping back, when Hermes squeezes his legs together to give him that much more resistance.

Hermes echoes the sound only a moment later when the vapor tentacle that had been prodding against his hole finally slips inside. It’s not as broad as Charon’s cock, not as much of a stretch, but it _is_ dexterous. It flexes and moves inside him in ways Charon can’t, finding that sensitive spot that stokes the heat under his skin to an outright blaze, makes his sac shift and tighten as lust coils sharply in his gut.

Charon doesn’t fuck his thighs for long, though Hermes knows it’s not for lack of desire. It’s often Charon’s preference whenever they find the time to sneak off to this hidden chamber, their own private refuge at the edge of the world, but right now, he apparently has other priorities.

He draws back, and once again Hermes legs are moved for him, repositioned so he’s splayed wide and the slender tendril sliding in and out of his hole is on full display. Charon grips his hips and tugs so the backs of Hermes’s thighs are braced over the tops of his. The tip of his cock presses to Hermes’s rim, just above the slithering tentacle, and he makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat.

Hermes nods eagerly, straining against the bonds still holding his wrists in place. “ _Yesss_ ,” he hisses as that glowing purple eye fixates on his face. “Yes, yes. You’re so good to ask first, such a gentleman, you are. But please, _please_ , my love, my Charon, do with me what you will. Permission granted, my good sir.” He bears down, rocking himself against the head of Charon’s cock, inviting. “I said it before—make me feel it.”

Charon takes him at his word. He’s gentle but resolute, sliding inside in one long, inexorable push.

Hermes gasps and bows his back when Charon bottoms out. Between his cock and the solid, slippery tendril, he feels full to the brink. It’s more intense than painful, but it temporarily robs him of breath all the same.

Charon stays completely still then, lets him ride out the moment until his body adjusts. Only when Hermes signals his readiness with a nod does Charon begin moving.

It takes a bit of work to get his cock and the tentacle to the point where they’re working in concert, but, _oh_ , when he does, Hermes’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head.

Charon drives into him, deep and merciless, and Hermes is being held in such a way that he can’t even try to complement the rhythm. He can only lie limp and _take_ it, occasionally squeezing his inner muscles to urge Charon on.

Coins cascade from their stacks, rolling in every direction as Charon fucks him harder. Hermes stares up at him with his brow pinched and his lower lip caught between his teeth, tracing Charon’s features, his corded forearms, the slender-fingered hands that grip his hips tight, wrenching Hermes down onto his cock with every brutal thrust.

He’s beautiful and otherworldly, and Hermes loves him so unbearably it makes his chest hurt. 

He opens his mouth to say as much, but Charon grunts then, and the tentacle drilling into Hermes shifts so it’s pressing more firmly to that hypersensitive place inside him.

All the different sensations coalesce—the stretch and pressure against his rim, those fierce, grinding plunges that rattle his bones and propel the breath from his lungs in jagged bursts. Hermes’s keening wail is so loud it echoes through the chamber, overshadowing the quickening slap of their bodies. He thrashes his head, scattering more coins as a tempest builds inside him, one that will crest and break, leave him wrung out and spent in the aftermath.

Hermes whines in entreaty, welcoming the storm, wanting the waves to buffet him until he falls apart on their shore. “Ch-Charon. Ahhhh. Please, _please_. G-give me more. Everything, _everything_.”

One of the amethyst tendril curls around his cock. Another creeps up his chest, over his chin, to press at his mouth. Hermes parts his lips to accept the ephemeral appendage. It and all the others will be gone the moment this is over—whatever power Charon uses to sustain them can't be maintained for very long—but for now, Hermes treats the wriggling tentacle the way he would Charon’s cock. He drags the flat of his tongue along the underside, traces the tip, sucks and wishes it was the taste of Charon in his mouth and not the indecipherable, faintly herbal flavor of his vapor.

At least it’s not an unpleasant taste. Hermes moans around the fullness in his mouth, tries to kick his heels, encourage Charon to move faster, but the tentacles hold his ankles fast before he can so much as budge.

Charon’s smoky grin makes another appearance, curling from the sides of his bare teeth, this time more a sinister leer than a happy expression.

 _Oh_ , the glorious, frustrating bastard. He knows he’s driving Hermes crazy. Hermes will get him back for it later, another time, another day or night. Two can play the teasing game, and Hermes hates to lose.

He clenches around Charon’s cock, and Charon gives a rumbling growl that seems to shake the room from ceiling to floor.

Hermes turns his head, spits the tentacle from his mouth, and laughs, high and wild. His chin is wet with drool, his body dripping sweat from their exertions. He feels raw and wrecked, his hole sore and his hips beginning to ache, but still he chokes out a couple breathless commands. “ _Harder_. Let me have it, old man!”

And Charon, because he’s a perfect gentleman, the best of professional associates, the _worthiest_ of partners, folds him in half and pounds down into him until Hermes is all but screaming.

When the tempest finally breaks, it shatters him completely. Hermes’s thoughts go blank; his pulse roars in his ears as his heart tries to keep pace with the pleasure crashing through his veins. Distantly, he notices Charon still, hears a low grunt, and feels the warm pulse of Charon’s cock as he finds his own ecstasy and empties inside him.

Hermes comes back to himself in slow increments. After a time, when he’s able to refocus on his surroundings, he finds Charon staring down at him adoringly. The tentacles are gone, and he’s free to move as he will, but he’s so boneless all he can manage is bringing his arms to his sides.

“Hhaaaahh,” Charon says. He cups Hermes’s face in a broad, callused hand, and Hermes turns his head to nuzzle into the touch.

“I’m all right.” He presses a kiss to Charon’s thin wrist. “You took care of me just the way I like.”

Charon groans and settles beside him. There’s a pitcher of water and a basin in one corner of the chamber, one Hermes will use to clean up when he can stir himself into actually moving, but for the moment, he goes willingly into Charon’s embrace and drops another kiss in the hollow dip between Charon’s sharp clavicles.

He sighs, content. “I love you. You always know what I need, don’t you?”

“Hrrrnnnghhh.” Charon rubs a palm along his back, pulls him even closer, and then clasps one of his ass cheeks in a proprietary grip. “Nnnngghhh.”

Hermes can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, I know you love me, too. And that’s all yours, boss, don’t you worry.”

A pleased rumble is Charon’s response. Hermes tips his head back so he can kiss him on the mouth, right over one of his eyeteeth.

“I think a little nap might be in order. Don’t let me rest for long, though, all right?”

“Haaaa.”

Hermes closes his eyes, slinging a thigh over Charon’s bare hip.

With Charon’s arms wrapped around him, he feels as safe and treasured as all the invaluable objects and coin kept hoarded away and protected in this room. 

He knows Charon adores pretty, sparkling things, which is perhaps the reason he’s so drawn to Hermes himself, whose bright wings gleam with the colors of sunset, and who’s been told on more than one occasion that his smile shines more brilliantly than gold.

Who’s to say? Charon can’t tell him as much, and in the end, it doesn’t matter anyway. Whatever drew them together, Hermes has no intention of letting his big boatman go now. 

Charon is stuck with him, and as far as Hermes is concerned, their personal contract is as binding and unbreakable as any Lord Hades could ever dream up for his multitude of shades.

The only difference is, for him and Charon, being bound together will never be a punishment.

**Author's Note:**

> And they were _Professional Associates_. GASP
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always very much appreciated! <3
> 
> Find me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/MxTicketyBoo).


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